


The Gift From A Dragon, Or Gods

by WishMage



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Highlander Fusion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Bedsharing, Dissociation, Do not repost, Episode Fix-it, Falling death, Fix-It, Geralt shows his love in actions, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs A Nap, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I cried writing this, Idiots in Love, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Oneshot, POV Alternating, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prompt Fill, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Temporary Character Death, The Witcher Kink Meme, Unspoken Love, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), do not copy to other sites, graphic death, i am exhausted, memory issues due to trauma, no beta we die like renfri, panic attack description (brief), why do I keep writing angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:22:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24369556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WishMage/pseuds/WishMage
Summary: After shouting at his bard atop the mountain, Geralt quickly decides to go after him and arrives at camp too late to prevent the surviving mercenaries from killing him for his lute. They're both shocked when Jaskier wakes from being dead.A Highlander fusion AU with immortal Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 341





	The Gift From A Dragon, Or Gods

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man I did it again. Found a prompt and couldn't sleep until I got it out of my fingers. I have no idea why my fluff-filled heart keeps latching onto angsty prompts.
> 
>  **Prompt:** _Jaskier falls onto the rocks, or a rock falls on him, or whatever works for Author._
> 
> _He dies._
> 
> _Geralt holds his corpse or looks at his broken body. He can see blood or bones or just the unnatural angles of neck. Whatever. And he is so traumatized and horrified and bereft._
> 
> _Problem is, after everything, he goes to collect the body (wherever and however) only to have Jaskier all confused and very much freaked out. Also when he gets a cut now lightning seals the wound, what the FUCK Geralt?!?!_
> 
> _https://witcherkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/429.html?thread=298413#cmt298413_

Jaskier stumbled back to camp, reeling from Geralt’s declaration that he was the source of every bad thing that had ever befallen him. He felt vaguely as though he were floating, and wondered inanely if he’d not woken and this was a dream, a nightmare. When he came back to camp and found the dwarves already gone, along with Yennefer’s tent, he sighed. He didn’t expect his own spot to be turned over, or one of the mercenaries to be holding his lute.  
  
“Hey!” Jaskier stormed over, and scowled when the man just smirked at him. “Get your hands off that!” He said as he reached for it. Only to find his arms go limp at a sharp pain in his back that left him gasping weakly, He blinked, his mind went confused as whoever had behind him pushed what he realized now was a dagger further into him, and shoved him forward when he stumbled.  
  
Jaskier turned, stumbling backward as the mercenary came at him with the bloodied dagger in his hand, and oh, Gods, was he breathing from the hole in his back? This had to be a nightmare. Please, let it be a nightmare, he thought as he stumbled further back as the Mercenary advanced on him. The man’s hands were on him then, holding his shoulders, pushing him back, releasing.  
  
Jaskier gasped painfully as he stumbled, was pushed once more, and fell.  
  
The sky was beautiful, he thought hysterically as he fell, and then impacted. It hurt, everywhere, for just a moment. He heard screams as his vision faded, eyes on the cliff he’d fallen from.  
  
-+-  
  
Geralt had chewed on his thoughts angrily, hating himself for driving away everyone that meant anything to him. He just couldn’t control his anger sometimes, and today Jaskier had finally faced the White Wolf’s teeth. Remembering the hurt, broken tone the bard spoke in before he’d turned to go back to camp moved him to try and catch the bard before he left more than anything else. As he approached the camp, he noticed with alarm the smell of blood on the wind, human, and too much.

He charged into the camp and found the dwarves, Yennefer and Jaskier nowhere to be seen, but the mercenaries were laughing and he could smell blood.

One of them cried out in alarm and that was when he saw the lute. Jaskier would never leave his lute, much less let a single one of _them_ handle it.  
  
“ _Where is he_ ?” He all but roared, and most of them went pale. Three of them looked at one man, a bloodied dagger in his hand and the scent of Jaskier on him. Then, as one, they tried to flee.  
  
When he’d cut the hands off the one who’d been holding the lute, which Geralt set down carefully, the man screamed that Jaskier had gone off a cliff before Geralt gutted him. Geralt turned to where he’d looked when he said the cliff and then saw the blood, a moment before the smell hit him again. The ground was painted in it, far too much for anyone to survive.

Geralt’s gut twisted and he ran for the cliff, looking over it. When he looked down to see Jaskier’s sightless gaze staring back up he felt his blood freeze in his veins. There was no doubt the bard was gone. Geralt stared down at him, steel sword clenched in his hand. His heart shattered in his chest as he remembered his last words to the bard.

‘ _If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take_ **_you_ ** _off my hands._ ’  
  
He swallowed the pain, for now, and sheathed his steel sword, switching it out for silver. He spent the next hour hunting down each of the monsters responsible and then, when they were gone, moved to retrieve his bard’s body.  
  
He was surprised to find Jaskier moved from where he’d fallen. There was still blood, everywhere, but the bard’s body was gone. Scowling, he moved up a deer path and back to the camp, then found Jaskier’s body laid out as though the bard were sleeping on his bedroll. Borch was standing over him, looking sad.  
  
Geralt heaved a somewhat irritated sigh and moved over to stand across from the man. He didn’t dare look down. Not yet.  
  
“Thank you.” He said, softly, as carrying the bard’s body back hadn’t been something he thought he was prepared to do. He wasn’t prepared to _bury_ his bard either, but he’d have to now.  
  
“You’ll have to apologize to him if you have any hope of healing his heart.” The dragon said nonsensically, and Geralt’s breath hitched and he looked down, wondering if Borch had somehow miraculously saved Jaskier. He was greeted with the bard’s death pallor and eyes that had been closed by the dragon. No heartbeat, no breath stirring in his chest.  
  
The laugh was punched painfully out of his chest. “I’d say it’s a bit late.”  
  
“Is it, though?” The dragon asked cryptically, and then finally raised his gaze from the bard. He looked at Geralt for a long moment, and the turned and walked away, leaving him alone with the body of the man he’d loved, pushed away, and ultimately gotten killed. Geralt allowed himself a few minutes of quiet grief, eyes closed as he stood over Jaskier. He went to where he’d set Jaskier’s lute, carefully cleaned it of blood, and laid it beside him.  
  
When all hope of happiness without the bard fled him, Geralt sighed and looked down at Jaskier. In desperation, hoping that the fates might intervene on behalf of this beloved bard, he gave voice to the apology Borch had suggested.  
  
“I’m sorry. It wasn't true. I should never have said it. I would give _anything_ to take those words back, to have you back.” He waited for over an hour, standing vigil just in case Borch’s cryptic statement had been literal before he searched the area for an appropriate place to bury his best friend and loyal companion.  
  
He’d just begun to dig the grave when he heard a strangled gasp, and suddenly he could hear Jaskier’s heartbeat thudding. He could hear the man drawing in air, gasping out curses and he stood to see his bard sitting up, looking alarmed. Geralt very nearly went to his knees when those shocked blue eyes locked onto him.  
  
“Geralt” He gasped, and Geralt moved helplessly forward, praying this wasn’t some _thing_ that had taken up residence in his bard’s body. But there was a heartbeat. He looked alive again, flesh no longer nearly white from blood loss. Before he knew it he _was_ on his knees beside Jaskier, who gripped his arm like a man drowning.  
  
“Geralt, what the _fuck_ ?” He asked, breath too quick in a near panic. Geralt shook his head, not knowing what to say, and then pulled Jaskier to him, ignoring the way the bard stiffened as he dragged him into his arms and held him.  
  
“I’m sorry.” Geralt grunted out, thanking every god above that he was getting to say it. “I’m sorry, you _are_ the blessing life has given me. I’m sorry, Jaskier.”  
  
Jaskier took a shuddering breath in his arms and then asked in a hushed voice. “Did I die? D-Did Yennefer bring me back... I don’t... was it an illusion? It _hurt_ .” The frightened, pained tone of his voice made Geralt want to crush Jaskier closer, but he didn’t want to hurt him.  
  
“You were gone,” Geralt confirmed, “I don’t know how you’re back, maybe something Borch did.”  
  
Jaskier laughed, high, hysterical. “I don’t want to do that again.”  
  
Geralt hugged him closer until Jaskier gasped and pushed at his shoulder. Geralt relented and loosened his grip, but moved his hands to Jaskier’s shoulders. He searched his face, his eyes, inhaled. This was _his_ bard. Relief left him quaking until concern for him overtook Jaskier’s panic, and then Geralt knew beyond any doubt it _was_ his bard. He dropped his head onto Jaskier’s shoulder and hummed, softly.  
  
-+-  
  
Jaskier still didn’t understand what had happened up on the mountain. Much of it felt like a dream and he had trouble remembering in what order things had occurred. Geralt, though, Jaskier had begun to worry about. It seemed entirely possible that the witcher wasn’t sleeping. Hadn’t in the week and a half since they’d begun to travel together. Jaskier was put on Roach, throughout the day, and Geralt seemed unable to go without touching the bard for more than half an hour.  
  
Most worryingly of all, the witcher hadn’t asked for or taken a single contract. He seemed to be avoiding cities and began wearing a hood until they were in the inn rooms Geralt kept getting him. In _n_ _ice_ inns. He wasn’t sure where the money was coming from, because Geralt hadn’t seemed to want to let him out of his sight.  
  
At first, Jaskier had wondered if it was because something was wrong with him. He kept feeling his back, and remembered burning clothes but not why. Geralt insisted whatever wound he’d suffered had closed. Jaskier didn’t like to think about it too much. When he did he usually began to tremble and pant like he’d just run for miles to escape some beast.  
  
Geralt would pull him into his arms and breath deeply until Jaskier found himself matching the pace of his breathing. Geralt had finally dissuaded him of the notion all the attention was because he might be possessed or some such thing when he’d drop kisses on Jaskier’s hair or temples when this would happen. The way Geralt gathered him up every night after that, even with the nights getting warmer as they approached the coast gave more solid proof.  
  
It wasn’t until Geralt became grumpy enough to snap at Roach that Jaskier ended up snapping. “That’s _enough_ Geralt. You obviously need some rest. I am not going to _vanish_ if you take your eyes off me for a few hours.” He screwed up his jaw and leveled the witcher with an even gaze until he could see by the slight change in how he held his shoulders that Geralt had given in.  
  
“Alright. We’ll make camp now. You’ll let me take care of Roach while you lay out the bedroll.” Jaskier instructed.  
  
Geralt clenched his jaw and Jaskier smiled a little. “I’ll lay with you. I won’t go anywhere.” The way Geralt relaxed then told Jaskier he was right about the witcher’s anxiety, and maybe about his feeling, as well. Taking a chance, Jaskier used the endearment he’d held in his heart for some twenty years.  
  
“Come here, love,” the bard held his hand out to his white wolf, who rushed to take it.  
  
Over the next years, Geralt relaxed about letting Jaskier out of his sight, though not for long, and Jaskier found that he seemed not to age. Minor wounds became healed with a strange sort of lightening. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but he thanked Borch, and the Gods, for giving him more time with Geralt.

**Author's Note:**

> I got such an amazing response and so many comments on the last Witcher fic I did (also angsty) that I was practically aching to toss up another one.
> 
> Please, if you liked this, drop a comment. They're getting me through in this very rough time.


End file.
